


Oh, My King Gave Up His Crown (My, How He's Fallen Now)

by citrus_cola



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood God Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Ghost Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), I wrote this all at once, Technoblade Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), and it shows, i still don't know how to tag, no beta we die like quackity in every tales from the smp episode, this is platonic so don't be WeirdChamp thank you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29760147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrus_cola/pseuds/citrus_cola
Summary: Phil looked at the cottage window, at the sea stretching out before them on the coastline. A hint of a smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “Perhaps death is not the end. In one of the bloodiest and most war-ridden servers I’ve ever been in, a Player told me that, when the moon comes into eclipse, those who have moved past this life can communicate.”Techno had snorted. “Death is permanent. Nothing comes after.”Phil had closed his eyes and tilted his head down. Had heaved out a small sigh. “Easy to say that when you’re a god, Techno.”Or: Phil is slain in a meaningless battle and Techno is immortal, left with nothing but a single legend to quell the grief in his heart.
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 89





	Oh, My King Gave Up His Crown (My, How He's Fallen Now)

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS:  
> //major character death  
> //grief  
> //suicidal thoughts
> 
> Please do not read if sensitive to these topics!! Stay safe out there!

It is said that if you close your eyes in the middle of an abandoned battlefield with only the eclipse of the moon above as your witness, you might just hear the spirits murmuring up to the stars.

Techno was not a superstitious person. What little faith he once had was now dissolved, replaced by only a torturous numbness poisoning his heart, like vines that coiled around his arteries and bled every last drop of conviction right out of him. He was tired. And he didn’t believe in ghosts. But if there was even a chance that the stories were true…

Techno’s trembling fingers held tight onto the single fastened button of his cobalt blue cloak, ignoring how the fabric dragged behind him, only to catch and snag on stray branches of the undergrowth. He moved with purpose under the darkness of the redwoods and the ferns. They shadowed him, distorting him, and if a nearby creature caught sight of him, they might think him more beast than man.

Thorns scraped roughly against his exposed feet, scratching and splattering the sacred woods with scarlet blood. Techno did not care. For once in his life, blood was the last thing on his mind.

Even the voices had gone quiet. Out of respect or fear, it was uncertain, but they all knew what had happened. They had seen through his eyes the gore, the disease, the piles of bodies mounting atop the dry, parched grass which choked for sunlight. They remembered the way the weeds spouted up between the tangle of legs and arms and limbs of days-old corpses. They knew because they had been chanting, screaming, howling for violence and death. Their silence now, which should have perhaps been a respite, was instead unsettling. It carried with it the weight of the war.

No one ever likes to see the aftermath of such prolonged combat. No one ever likes to gaze upon the mass graveyards. And no one ever wants to hold the shovel, to be the one to begin burying.

So when Techno’s side had come out victorious, almost all had turned a blind eye to the carcasses.

 _Leave ‘em to the vultures,_ someone had snickered, someone with gleaming gold decorations and a title and a high rank.

Techno had felt the disgust, had tasted the bile rise in his throat, and while those he had fought beside retrieved their weapons and cleared out their tents, packing their belongings and setting off to find something new or old, he had lingered.

Had waited.

And when everyone else was gone, he had set to work.

So as he now approached the clearing- passing through the final thicket that gave way to the expansive field before him- he knew what to expect. After all, it was _his_ handiwork.

The unrelenting remaining odor of copper. The upturned earth packed in hundreds of neat rectangles. And the stones that rested at the head of each plot, unmarked graves for fallen, forgotten soldiers.

The work had been finished for weeks now, yet the effects of the toil still wore heavy on Techno’s muscles. He was thinner, frailer, and had not spoken a word aloud since the day he began. His shelter was far from the field so as to lessen the nightmares and the leeching agony of memory. But every night, he returned as the pitiful cemetery’s caretaker. And at dawn, he would retreat to his tent down by the stream- the one that fed into valleys of marigold and lavender- dirt beneath his fingernails and sweat caking his brow.

Tonight, however, was different from the rest.

The moon lay in the world’s shadow, obscured but faintly glowing a dull crimson. The first lunar eclipse in years.

There was something almost beautiful about it.

Techno crossed the field swiftly, maneuvering between the final resting places with practiced ease. Such care had been put into making sure not to once tread over the plots and just because this night was special, it did not mean he was going to be careless.

The old Techno, the Techno from years ago, might have scoffed if he had heard of this. _They’re your enemies and it was a war. Casualties are inevitable and they knew what was coming to them when they opposed you._

That man was not the same as the one moving under the openness of the sky now. That man had been too naïve, too cowardly, always hiding from the frightening truth of what he did behind ugly words and ugly scars.

Because he had killed. It was undeniable. He had wrenched the life from thousands, torn their breaths from their lungs, left them without a pulse, or moved on before he could deliver a final blow, leaving them to bleed out, crying for their parents, their lover, or their friends. It was blood in his nose and blood on his hands and it was the worst parts of himself strewn about in pieces. It was trying to justify that _yes, those people deserved it_ when no, that wasn’t true at all. Because he didn’t realize until weeks ago what loss truly was, didn’t realize what real pain was until-

Techno stopped before the grave at the precise center of the field. His fists curled into themselves. The sting of his nails digging into his own flesh registered somewhere deep in his mind, but he elected to ignore it.

He collapsed to his knees before the soil and the stone, blue cloak billowing around him. The night was clear, but his vision was not. Warm trails of salt and tears ran down his cheeks and he leaned into the sorrow. He had cried so much in the past weeks that he thought he had run out, had become a broken faucet.

Apparently not.

 _You promised me not to die._ His thoughts were scattered, but the sorrow that had lain as buried as his friend now bubbled to the surface, at last spilling over. He licked his lips and shuddered, a sob tearing through him like a hurricane. Gentle tears flowed freely now, splattering against the grass. _Phil, you swore forever._

And for a long while, he just knelt there, head pressed against the dirt, shaking. The voices would sometimes mumble comfort, but it was tense and awkward, and when he didn’t acknowledge them it tapered off.

It was just him and his own thoughts.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. Legends are more often than not simply untruths passed down by those who seek to entertain children. And an eclipse powerful enough to hear the dead. Techno nearly barked out a laugh at his own stupidity. What did he think was going to happen?

He almost moved to wipe his tears and flee the field, but a shiver ran down his spine as a wave of hesitation rushed over him. He paused. It- it had been Phil who had originally told him of the story. Phil, the Angel of Death, during one especially awful night when Techno had succumbed to the voices and slaughtered someone who had trusted him, someone whose name and face fuzzed in his mind now. He had run off, unable to look back, to face what he’d done. He could not have been more than eighteen.

Phil had found him in some snowy wasteland where a blizzard raged on. He was cramped beneath two enormous stones in the side of a mountain, rocking back and forth, knees hugged tight to his chest and the mold behind him pressing against his neck in a clammy grip. The voices had been _so loud,_ and it was all he could do to not knock himself unconscious against the rock just to shut them up.

He hadn’t meant to slip.

~~But it was so _fun_.~~

And besides, what is a blood god without a thirst for blood? Simply some immortal who thinks he can fix the cracked and crumbling world?

He had clamped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, as if that could stop the thousands screaming over each other in endless cacophony.

That’s why he had flinched back in shock when he felt a warm touch on his shoulder. And then there was Phil, the golden light and reflections of snow peering through the crevice behind him, illuminating him in a picturesque halo. That, with the wings, startled Techno. Because, in that moment, Phil looked exactly like a guardian angel.

He took him back to their cottage. Gave him a hot bowl of soup. And when Techno’s mind was no longer crawling with thoughts like it was infested with worms, Phil rested a dark blue cloak on his shoulders. _Phil’s_ cloak.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve heard stories on my travels between worlds.”

Techno squeezed the mug Phil had put in his hands, the milk and honey tea swirling inside far too hot to drink yet. “What ‘bout?”

Phil looked at the cottage window, at the sea stretching out before them on the coastline. A hint of a smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “That perhaps death is not the end. In one of the bloodiest and most war-ridden servers I’ve ever been in, a Player told me that, when the moon comes into eclipse, those who have moved past this life can communicate.”

Techno had snorted. “Death is permanent. Nothing comes after.”

Phil had closed his eyes and tilted his head down. Had heaved out a small sigh. “Easy to say that when you’re a god, Techno.”

The world rushed up to meet Techno from the memory and he beat the ground with a fist as the tears dripped down. That hadn’t even been that long ago, barely less than a decade. But time was a cursed thing, and as Techno had stopped aging, Phil had gone on in his mortal years.

And they had both always known that someday death would tear them apart.

But Techno never expected it to be so soon.

He dug his nails into his scalp, tangled them in his long, dull hair, just to feel the way that it made his gut coil. Just to distract himself from the grief that clouded his world like a crawling mist.

The world was empty now without Phil in it.

He could destroy it all.

Techno paused at the idea. It sounded glorious, the idea of lighting the planet to ashes and watching the light fade to nothing. He could survive it. He was immortal. And the voices would be _so, so_ appeased with the blood and violence and gore-

And he hiccupped and bit his tongue because _Phil wouldn’t want that, Phil would be so disappointed. That’s not revenge, that’s just cold-blooded murder_.

The thoughts poured like his tears to the ground and, God above, his throat burned like he had swallowed ash. The thick scent of copper rolled in his nose and he felt it begin to clog his windpipe. Choking, he dissolved into splutters of rattling inhales and exhales.

The stars glared down wickedly at the fallen blood god. His crown was nowhere to be found, abandoned in a riverbed somewhere, garnering more attention from the worms than it ever had from him. The divinity the cosmos had gifted him seemed like little more than a pathetic waste.

He wished he could die he wished he could die he wished he could die-

He bit his lip, feeling the pointed tusks draw blood. It dribbled down his chin.

“Hey, Techno.”

He faltered. Looked up, still barely able to breathe, and whirled around to look for someone standing nearby. The field was empty save for himself and the poor excuse of gravestones he had found. Was he hallucinating? Was this the universe’s cruel joke on him?

That same someone spoke again, calmly, patiently, “You’re looking pretty rough.”

Techno swallowed. Tried to remember the breathing technique Phil had taught him after that day in the snow. Four counts in, hold, eight counts out- wait, or was it nine? Or seven? He couldn’t recall. It was like the clearing was decaying under his bare feet.

“Ph- Phil?” Oh Gods, he sounded terrible. His throat was hoarse and his voice a mere tangle of nonsense.

Somehow, though, the disembodied voice understood. He had always understood Techno.

“Hi, mate.”

Techno’s stomach dropped and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Are- are you here with me?”

“Yep.” The last consonant was popped in the way Phil had always done to make Techno laugh over gruel and campfire songs. It didn’t work now. Any humor Techno had ever experienced was drowned out by the pounding of a headache against his temples, by the sorrow and grief that rolled in his stomach as if a parasite.

“Phil, I’m sorry. I-.” The word caught in his throat and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He was still uncertain that this wasn’t just a dream his brain was conjuring up all to comfort him. “I messed up so bad.”

A sigh, like Phil had known this would come. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Techno snickered and brushed aside the saltiness stinging the inner corners of his eyes. All it did was irritate the burn more. “Wasn’t it, though?”

“I went and got myself stabbed through the heart. _Not_ you. Please, I know it’s difficult-.”

“ _No_ ,” Techno interrupted, voice cracking hopelessly from such little use. His hands blurred as he gestured to the open field around them. “No, you don’t seem to understand. I swore to myself to protect you, Phil, I _swore_. You were supposed to live a hundred years. You were supposed to live a good life. And I ruined your chances. I took it all away…

“Maybe,” he sobbed, ignoring the way his lips curled awkwardly around his tusks to form the words. “Maybe you should have left me to rot in the Nether. Maybe we never should have met at all.”

He heaved. Shut his eyes. Ignored Phil’s small intake of air.

The silence weighed heavily between the two.

They both remembered that day as vividly as they remembered the pure white of the Antarctic Empire’s glaciers and snow. The lava burbling softly below as the hunters had surrounded Techno, slashing him with an axe again and again and again, cutting deep through tissue and bone and nerves, wondering why he wouldn’t die as he squealed and wept, pleading for mercy in a language they didn’t understand. Gods can’t be killed, but that doesn’t mean they are invincible. The scars that still littered Techno’s back from then were all the proof one needed of that.

“Techno.” The words were sharp but not condemning. “I’d rather die a hundred times over than never have found you.”

And the blood god shattered. The void in his heart filled with emotions too powerful for speech.

He wailed and he mourned while the spirit of his only loyal companion watched on in quiet understanding. If Phil had a physical form, there was no doubt that he’d be at Techno’s side, resting a hand on his shoulder, being his guardian angel.

Nothing had really changed.

They stayed there like that for a while, under the pale red of the moon and the crisp night sky. But time is cruel. And time moves on.

Phil’s next words came in a murmur. “I can’t stay for much longer. The eclipse is over soon.”

“No, no,” Techno yelped. “That’s it? That’s too soon.”

“Techno, I need you to know that this is _not_ your doing. Your heart might tell you so, but that’s not true. I don’t- I don’t think we’ll ever actually talk again. Because I _want_ you to move on Techno. Don’t forget what happened but know that it’s okay. Just. Keep control of yourself. The voices are _not_ you. And I think you’ll realize that soon, too.” Phil’s voice flickered in and out.

Techno still had so much to say. Too much to say. _This wasn’t enough time_.

“Phil, I promise you now, I’m never going to kill again. I- Phil, it _hurts_.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll heal. I believe in you.” His talking was _so, so_ faint now, like through glass barriers and walls and all the horrible things that keep people apart. “And I’ll always be looking over you. Me and you against the world, remember?”

Techno shuddered and nodded. He repeated, softly, “Me and you against the world.”

Only silence ensued.

Techno remained at the grave for a long while.

His heart ached, but it was in a good way.

\---

Legends say that there once were two friends inseparable by nothing but death itself. That the world felt their fury shake the bounds and limits, but that the entire planet stopped spinning when a sword cleaved through one’s heart.

And legends say that the one left alive had nothing but grief, nothing but a yearning to go and join the other in the afterlife.

And legends say that he managed it, that the one remaining- the blood god- drowned himself or took a dagger to his heart or simply collapsed from starvation or exhaustion, rattling the foundations of the divide between mortal and immortal. That they live on forever in the stars.

But legends aren’t always exactly true.

Because somewhere deep within a once-sacred forest, a clearing lies hidden, an odd little thing. In neat patterns, a grid of weathered stones speckle the earth low beneath the towering plants of green and gold that sprout from the tangled weeds. They look like fallen stars, ones that crashed and ignited and shriveled with time, full of wishes and lost dreams.

But if you dare venture farther in, if you risk yourself by walking amongst the thorns that bury themselves low to the dirt, you find one of these stone markers that is completely the same and yet entirely different from the rest. It echoes with tragedy and sorrow, but rings with truth and faith. It speaks languages of old and knows more than it should. It has seen centuries pass since it has been raised, for it watches on with hidden eyes of green.

Yes, this stone is different, for it is cocooned in a worn blue cotton that has gone unbattered by nature’s harshest elements. And atop that sprawling fabric, there is a wreath of marigold and lavender, the flowers’ stems twisted delicately into perfect knots. What should have wilted ages ago remains flourishing, the colors dulling not once.

And somewhere else, far off in the world, a blood god without a thirst for blood smiles. Laughs at a stupid joke. Feels the air brush warmly against his cheek and leans into the touch because he knows, too.

He knows that he doesn’t need to fear what he is anymore. His crown has been laid to rest. It’s in the hands of someone he has missed and will miss forever, but someone he loves still all the same. Its weight is gone. The burden has been taken off his shoulders. The voices have gone silent.

And now…

Well…

He’s free.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this seemed messy, I got the idea for it at 10 PM last night and wrote it all at once so I wouldn't forget (with just some quick editing this morning). Planning on writing a lot more soon since I have some AUs in mind.
> 
> Also, yes, that last line is a reference to the end of the Potato Wars series. Don't know if anyone caught that or not but it's a fun thing I threw in just because.
> 
> Feedback/ criticism is much appreciated. Thank you for reading. :)


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